Jake hadn't considered that. Had been so focused on his own loneliness that he hadn't thought about Lucy being lonely too.
"I'm bad at this," Jake admitted.
"You're learning. Long distance is hard. But you can't let the hard parts go unsaid. That's how relationships die—not from distance, but from silence."
That night, Jake tried to call Lucy. It was early morning for her—she should be awake.
The call went to voicemail.
He tried again an hour later. Still voicemail.
Finally, at midnight Vermont time (6 AM Paris time), Lucy texted:
Lucy:Sorry, was in early class. Chef Laurent schedules practice sessions at 5 AM sometimes. He's insane. How are you?
Jake:I'm okay. Miss you. Can we video call soon? Like, actually talk?
Lucy:Yes. Tomorrow? I have the afternoon free.
Jake:Perfect. I'll call you at noon my time. 6 PM yours?
Lucy:It's a date. Love you.
Jake:Love you too.
Jake set down his phone and tried to plan what he wanted to say.
I miss you. I'm struggling. I'm scared we're drifting apart.
I love you but I don't know how to do this.
Six months feels impossible.
But he couldn't say that. Couldn't add to Lucy's stress. Couldn't make her feel guilty for choosing her dreams.
So instead, Jake went to bed and tried to sleep and failed, same as he had every night since Lucy left.
The video call on Sunday was supposed to fix things.
Lucy had prepared—made sure her apartment was clean, wore a nice sweater instead of her usual cooking-stained clothes, even put on makeup.
She wanted Jake to see that she was okay. That Paris hadn't broken her.
When Jake's face appeared on screen at 6 PM, Lucy's heart clenched. He looked exhausted. Older, somehow. Like the past month had aged him.
"Hey," she said, smiling too bright.
"Hey. You look nice."
"Thanks. You look tired."
"I am tired. Long week."
They stared at each other through the screen, both trying to figure out how to bridge this distance.
"How's coaching?" Lucy finally asked.
"Good. We won again. Tommy says I'm doing well."
